The
party whose fortunes I have followed across the plains was not only the
first that went direct to California from the East; we were probably the
first white people, except Bonnevilles party of 1833, that
ever crossed the Sierra Nevada. Dr. Marshs ranch, the first settlement
reached by us in California, was located in the eastern foothills of the
Coast Range Mountains, near the northwestern extremity of the great San
Joaquin Valley and about six miles east of Monte Diablo, which may be called
the geographical center of Contra Costa County. There were no other settlements
in the valley; it was, apparently, still just as new as when Columbus discovered
America, and roaming over it were countless thousands of wild horses, of
elk, and of antelope. It had been one of the driest years ever known in
California, The country was brown and parched; throughout the State wheat,
beans, everything had failed. Cattle were almost starving for grass, and
the people, except perhaps a few of the best families, were without bread,
and were eating chiefly meat, and that often of a very poor quality.

Dr.
Marsh had come into California four or five years before by way of
New Mexico. He was in some respects a remarkable man. In command of the
English language I have scarcely ever seen his equal. He had never studied
medicine, I believe, but was a great reader: sometimes he would lie in
bed all day reading, and he had a memory that stereotyped all he read,
and in those days in California such a man could easily assume the role
of doctor and practise medicine. In fact, with the exception of Dr. Marsh
there was then no physician of any kind anywhere in California. We were
overjoyed to find an American, and yet when we became acquainted with him
we found him one of the most selfish of mortals. The night of our arrival
he killed two pigs for us. We felt very
grateful; for we had by no means recovered from starving on poor mule meat,
and when he set his Indian cook to making tortillas (little cakes) for
us, giving one to each, there were thirty-two in our party, 
we felt even more grateful; and especially when we learned that he had
had to use some of his seed wheat, for he had no other. Hearing that there
was no such thing other as money in the country, and that
butcher-knives,
guns, ammunition, and everything of that kind were better than money, we
expressed our gratitude the first night to the doctor by presents 
one giving a can of powder, another a bar of lead or a
butcher-knife,
and another a cheap but serviceable set of surgical instruments. The next
morning I rose early, among the first, in order to learn from our host
something about California,  what we could do and where we could go,
 and, strange as it may seem, he would scarcely answer a question.
He seemed to be in an ill humor, and among other things he said, The
company has a ready been over a hundred dollars expense to me, and God
knows whether I will ever get a real of it or not. I was at a loss
to account for this and went out and told some of the party , and found
that others had been snubbed in a similar manner. We held a consultation
and resolved to leave as soon as convenient. Half our party concluded to
go back to the San Joaquin River, where there was much game, and spend
the winter hunting, chiefly for otter, the skins being worth three dollars
apiece. The rest  about fourteen  succeeded in gaining information
from Dr. Marsh by which they started to find the town of San José,
about forty miles to the south, then known by the name of Pueblo de San
José, now the city of San José. More or less of our effects
had to be left at Marshs, and I decided to remain and look out for them,
and meantime to make short excursions about the country on my own account.
After the others had left I started off traveling south, and came to what
is now called Livermore Valley, then known as Livermores Ranch, belonging
to Robert Livermore, a native of England. He had left a vessel when a
mere boy, and had married and lived like the native Californians, and,
like them, was very expert with the lasso. Livermores was the frontier
ranch, and more exposed than any other to the ravages of the horse-thief
Indians of the Sierra Nevada (before mentioned). That valley was full of
wild cattle,  thousands of them,  and they were more dangerous
to one on foot, as I was, than grizzly bears. By dodging into the gulches
and behind trees I made my way to a Mexican ranch at the extreme west end
of the valley, where I staid all night. This
was one of the noted ranches, and belonged to a Californian called
Don José Maria Amador  more recently, to a man named Dougherty.
Next day, seeing nothing to encourage me, I started to return to Marshs
ranch.

On the way,
as I came to where two roads or rather paths, converged, I fell in with
one of the fourteen men, M. C. Nye, who had started for San José.
He seemed considerably agitated, and reported that at the Mission of San
José, some fifteen miles this side of the town of San José,
all the men had been arrested and put in prison by General
Vallejo, Mexican commander- in-chief of the military under
Governor Alvarado, he alone having been sent back to tell Marsh and to
have him come forthwith to explain why this armed force had invaded the
country. We reached Marshs after dark. The next day the doctor started
down to the Mission of San José, nearly thirty miles distant, with
a list of the company, which I gave him. He was gone about three days.
Meanwhile we sent word to the men on the San Joaquin River to let them
know what had taken place, and they at once returned to the ranch to await
results. When Marsh came back he said ominously, Now, men, I want
you all to come into the house and I will tell you your fate. We
all went in, and he announced, You men that have five dollars can
have passports and remain in the country and go where you please.
The fact was he had simply obtained passports for the asking; they had
cost him nothing. The men who had been arrested at the Mission had been
liberated as soon as their passports were issued to them, and they had
at once proceeded on their way to San José. But five dollars! I
dont suppose any one had five dollars; nine-tenths of them probably
had not a cent of money. The names were called and each man settled, giving
the amount in something, and if unable to make it up in money or effects
he would give his note for the rest. All the names were called except my
own. There was no passport for me. Marsh had certainly not forgotten me,
for I had furnished him with the list of our names myself. Possibly his
idea was  as others surmised and afterwards told me  that, lacking
a passport, I would stay at his ranch and make a useful hand to work.

The next
morning before day found me starting for the Mission of San José
to get a passport for myself. Mike Nye, the man who had brought the news
of the arrest, went with me. A friend had lent me a poor old horse, fit
only to carry my blankets. I arrived in a heavy rain-storm, and was
marched into the calaboose and kept there three days with nothing to eat,
and the fleas were so numerous as to cover and darken anything of a light
color. There were four or five Indians in the prison. They were ironed,
and they kept tolling a bell, as a punishment, I suppose, for they were
said to have stolen horses; possibly they belonged to the Horse-thief
tribes east of the San Joaquin Valley. Sentries were stationed at the door.
Through a grated window I made a motion to an Indian boy outside and he
brought me a handful of beans and a handful of manteca, which is used by
Mexicans instead of lard. It seemed as if they were going to starve me
to death. After having been there three days I saw through the door a man
whom, from his light hair, I took to be an American, although he was clad
in the wild picturesque garb of a native Californian, including serape
and the huge spurs used by the vaquero. I had the sentry at the door hail
him. He proved to be an American, a resident of the Pueblo of San José,
named Thomas Bowen, and he kindly went to Vallejo, who was right across
the way in the big Mission building, and procured for me the passport.
I think I have that passport now, signed by Vallejo and written in Spanish
by Victor Prudon, secretary of Vallejo. Every one at the Mission pronounced
Marshs action an outrage; such a thing was never known before. We had
already heard that a man by the name of Sutter was starting a colony a
hundred miles away to the north in the Sacramento Valley. No other civilized
settlements had been attempted anywhere east of the Coast Range before
Sutter came the Indians had reigned supreme. As the best thing to be done
I now determined to go to Sutters, afterward called Sutters Fort,
or New Helvetia. Dr. Marsh said we could make the journey in two days,
but it took us eight. Winter had come in earnest, and winter in California
then, as now, meant rain. I had three companions. It was wet when we started,
and much of the time we traveled through a pouring rain. Streams were out
of their banks; gulches were swimming; plains were inundated; indeed, most
of the country was overflowed. There were no roads, merely paths, trodden
only by Indians and wild game. We were compelled to follow the paths, even
when they were under water, for the moment our animals stepped to one side
down they went into the mire. Most of the way was through the region now
lying between Lathrop and Sacramento. We got out of provisions and were
about three days without food. Game was plentiful. but hard to shoot in
the rain. Besides, it was impossible to keep our old flint-lock guns
dry, and especially the powder dry in the pans. On the eighth day we came
to Sutters settlement; the fort had not then been begun. Sutter received
us with open arms and in a princely fashion, for he was a man of the most
polite address and the most courteous manners, a man who could shine in
an society. Moreover, our coming was not unexpected to him. It will be
remembered that in the Sierra Nevada one of our men named Jimmy John became
separated from the main party. It seems that he came on into California,
and, diverging into the north, found his way down to Sutters settlement
perhaps a little before we reached Dr. Marshs. Through this man Sutter
heard that our company of thirty men were already somewhere in California.
He immediately loaded two mules with provisions taken out of his private
stores, and sent two men with them in search of us. But they did not find
us, and returned, with the provisions, to Sutters. Later, after a long
search, the same two men, having been sent out again by Sutter, struck
our trail and followed it to Marshs.

John
A. Sutter was born in Baden in 1803 of Swiss parents, and was proud
of his connection with the only republic of consequence in Europe. He was
a warm admirer of the United States, and some of his friends had persuaded
him to come across the Atlantic. He first went to a friend in Indiana with
whom he staid awhile, helping to clear land, but it was business that he
was not accustomed to. So he made his way to St. Louis and invested what
means he had in merchandise, and went out as a New Mexican trader to Santa
Fe. Having been unsuccessful at Santa Fe, he returned to St. Louis, joined
a party of trappers, went to the Rocky Mountains, and found his way down
the Columbia River to Fort Vancouver. There he formed plans for trying
to get down to the coast of California to establish a colony. He took a
vessel that went to the Sandwich Islands, and there communicated his plans
to people who assisted him. But as there was no vessel going direct from
the Sandwich Islands to California, he had to take a Russian vessel by
way of Sitka. He got such credit and help as he could in the Sandwich Islands
and  induced five or six natives to accompany him to start the contemplated
colony. He expected to send to Europe and the United States for his colonists.
When he came to the coast of California, in 1840, he had an interview with
the governor, Alvarado, and obtained permission to explore the country
and find a place for his colony. He came to the bay of San Francisco, procured
a small boat and explored the largest river he could find, and selected
the site where the city of Sacramento now stands.
John Bidwell describes the life of John Sutter.